Jordyn
At first, no one says anything. I resume building my fire and crouch down beside my kindling to breathe life into the speck of an ember below. Kaia watches me with hungry, dark eyes that follow my every movement. Neil stares too. Our breathing merges into one heaving sound, almost lost among the downpour of rain that has begun outside our sanctuary.
"Fine," Sam says, making me jump. The fire catches, and I scoot away from it to sit beside him. "I'll go first. Most of my memories are about the manufactured prisons, which is weird."
I pick at the fraying end of my ripped off jumpsuit leg and listen to his words. Is it the truth? Or is he hiding it like I did when he asked me about my memories? If Sam doesn't have any personal memories, I feel bad for him. Those glimpses into who I am give me comfort and strength, but most importantly, they give me a little bit of hope.
Someone out there cared for me enough to push me on a swing set and hum songs to me on a porch swing. Someone cared enough to scream for me when they were hurt, to ask me for help. I don't know where the path of memories lead, but they're unravelling a little at a time. I'm learning patience.
"What exactly about the prisons?" Kaia asks softly, picking at the sand.
"I remember that they were created a few years ago due to the growing crime rate after the war," he says, making a face as he struggles to unroll the memory. "I think it's just a United States thing. Either way, there are at least two other prisons like this that I can think of.
"The Island is just one of those, but if I remember right, it's one of the newest ones.
"I also remember that there are people who control the prisons from an outside source. They initiate temperature changes, tell the day when to end, control when the animals attack. They designed every inch of the prison themselves and are experts in the extent of its potential."
He stops to catch his breath and looks over at me.
"It's not just the animals and weather than can strike at any moment," he continues in a much quieter tone. His eyes never leave mine. It's as if he's speaking directly to me, warning me about what's going to happen. I hold my breath and his gaze.
"What else is there?" I whisper.
"Somehow, I can't remember how, the designers can get inside our heads and mess with our perception of reality. They have ways of doing psychological harm as well as physical harm."
The voices.
It's the designers, roaming around in my skull and whispering to me in my weakest moments of doubt. I wrap my arms around myself even though the warmth from the fire spreads through my body.
"Is that all?" Kaia asks. "Because that was a lot more than I can remember."
Sam shakes his head.
"I think they planted this last thing in my head," he mumbles, finally looking away from me to gaze at Kaia. I stare at the back of his head. Soft white specks of sand litter the brown strands. "No one has ever escaped or survived any of the manufactured prisons."
I knew that. That's the goal of The Island- to kill. Not to make miserable or uncomfortable or hungry but to end a person's life. A criminal's life.
Kaia sighs and relaxes back in the sand.
"I think we all knew that, Samson," she says, nodding.
Sam looks back at me with a knowing look as I swallow down tears. There goes my hope of escaping. The nasty feeling dissipates faster than it appeared without leaving even a trace. I'm doomed to be here forever or at least until I die.
YOU ARE READING
The Island
Science Fiction"This is The Island, a prison designed for minors like me- too young to be executed, too old to be reformed, and too much of a stain on humanity to let exist. It was 'the answer' to the growing crime rate resulting from a world that was falling apar...
